Unknown Birthdates
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: In the end, strawberry rhubarb pie is a wonderful treat that Sherlock secretly pines for.


**Unknown Birthdates**

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Mrs. Hudson was the one to question the consulting detective peeking out through the front door.

"I've ordered Chinese, Mrs. Hudson."

"Why are you hovering all about out there for? You look as if you're being watched."

"I am, Mrs. Hudson, I am. Targeted. Can't be helped."

"Sherlock, are they watching the house?"

"They are. They will. They might be now. Don't know."

"_Who _is watching the house? Sherlock, should I call the police?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Go back to your knitting," Sherlock responded airly, waving a hand. When he cracked the door again to look for the delivery man, he instead found himself spotting John walking down the sidewalk. "Oh! There are you, John! Get in, get in! Hurry now!" He extended a long pale hand and dragged the confused doctor in, slamming the door after.

"What's going on?"

"Oh, afternoon Doctor. Let me take your coat."

"Oh no, Mrs. Hudson, it's quite alright," John replied, looking between her and Sherlock. "So, what _is _he doing?"

"He's ordered Chinese."

"Oh. Wait, Sherlock, why didn't you just walk down the street?" John sighed, shifting the shopping bags between his hands. "Your inability to exhibit proper exercise is simply astounding. By the way, I met Mycroft on the street-"

"Mycroft! John, what did he say? Please enlighten me. Pray tell you told him that I was busy."

"We had a chat, and I told him that you'd gone out this morning and hadn't returned before I had gone out. He said that he was going to come visit but since I didn't know if you were here, he said he'd just call instead. Wished me a good day and was off." John frowned, freeing up a hand to loosen his scarf. "Why? Is that why you wouldn't walk down the street?"

"So, he's not coming?"

"No."

"Brilliant! You are _wonderful_, John!" Sherlock clapped the doctor on the shoulder before a knock at the door deviated him. "Ah!"

Sherlock busied himself with paying for the Chinese, in a much more jovial mood than before. The mention of Mycroft not visiting was enough to cheer the man up for an entire twenty four hours.

**XxXxX**

John hadn't been in the flat when Sherlock had reentered it, so the detective had only assumed that the doctor was speaking with Mrs. Hudson and hadn't had a thought about it since. Actually, he hadn't thought about it at all until John actually did show up- nearly one hour later.

"John," Sherlock acknowledged, keeping up his correspondence to a long string of emails without looking away from the computer. "Pass me my phone."

John meandered across the room, picking his way through various clothes and pillows littering the floor. Sherlock had dirtied the place up again since he'd gone out.

Sherlock looked up when John deposited something in his hand that was definitely not his phone; in his palm sat a small envelope with _Sherlock_ scrawled across the front in John's untidy calligraphy. Forehead creasing with the smallest of frowns, he looked towards the doctor, but John had already walked to the kitchen. Sherlock looked back to the envelope before slipping a finger under the fold, splitting it open.

Inside was a card, cheaply bought and made to not last for long, with the words _Happy Birthday_ across the front. Sherlock stared at it with a sense of impending dread before flipping the card open.

_Sherlock,_

_It would have been nice to know ahead of time._

_- John_

_P.S. I know you avoided telling me probably because you think birthdays are no more special than a Sunday and celebrating a waste of time; however, as your flat-mate and consulting doctor/assistant, I feel like I am obligated to knowing such things. For reference, my birthday is July 7th. I like chocolate cake._

_P.S. II. Mycroft told me that it was your birthday and made me promise that I would pass on his sentiments. He stated 'You're finally catching up to me. Happy birthday. I will look for you for tea tomorrow at the Royale, 6:00.' _

_P.S. III. Happy birthday, Sherlock. Life wouldn't be the same without you._

Sherlock felt his lips twitch towards a smile before he closed the card, laying it down on the couch next to him. He looked back to his laptop, watching the cursor blinking on the blank email. John soon took a seat next to him, but the consulting detective didn't look up.

"Sherlock."

Now he did, glancing towards John with curious lightened eyes. "What?"

"Move _over_, for God's sake. You're hogging the couch."

Once again, he fought the twitch of his lips before he humoured the doctor, sliding down to give more room. John turned on the telly, which Sherlock promptly tuned out, until it was time for bed. John was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise sort.

**XxXxX**

John was awake by 5:30 the next morning, not surprised to find Sherlock already out of the house. It was constantly like this, although John never complained and never asked.

He flopped into the chair, picking up his laptop and opening it. His email indicator was flashing and so he clicked to his inbox, much surprised to find an unread from Sherlock that didn't seem to be spam or chain mail. He clicked it open.

_John,_

_Pie is better than cake. Especially if it involves strawberries and rhubarb._

_- Holmes_

_P.S. Thank you._

John smiled to himself as he closed the email once again. He opened the tab for his blog, clicking to open a new post.

_January 7th, 2011._

_I've found out that S. Holmes's favourite is strawberry rhubarb. Must keep in mind for later dates._

* * *

><p><strong>They find ways to show they care without words. I hope I got the characterization right. It seems a little touchy to me. I'm new to the fandom. Would love feedback! <strong>

**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
